Secrets of Sloane House(20)

You have been a foolish girl, she scolded herself. Imagining problems where there are none and blackguards where only friends appear.

Douglass Sloane really was terribly charming. And he seemed nice too. Surely all of that wasn’t pretense. She didn’t know society’s ways, but she liked to think that she did know people. Surely she’d be able to know immediately if a person was dangerous. Really dangerous.

Yes, she liked to think so. And she needed an ally in the house if she was ever going to truly uncover all the mysteries surrounding Miranda’s disappearance. Instinctively, she knew she couldn’t rely only on information passed to her by servants. She needed the perspective and knowledge that only one of the family—someone in society—could know.

The first spark of real hope lit inside of her. Maybe her working in the house, maybe all this subterfuge, wasn’t for naught after all.

Reid cleared his throat, bringing her thoughts back to the present. “I believe it’s time we let you, uh, ladies go on your way. You no doubt have other things to do, as do we.” Though unspoken, the meaning under his words was unashamedly evident. He’d had enough of two maids’ company.

“Oh yes, sir,” Nanci said. Almost imperceptibly, her shoulders straightened and her expression turned a bit more wooden.

Rosalind found she wasn’t able to revert to her supposed place so easily. Instead blood began to pound in her temples as embarrassment flowed over her. It seemed that while Douglass might be inclined to let some of the walls between their stations crumble, Reid Armstrong had no intention of forgetting everyone’s place in society.

“Whatever are you speaking of, Armstrong?” Douglass retorted. “I don’t recall a single place I’d rather be than right here.”

Pointedly, Reid pulled out a silver timepiece from a vest pocket. “Did you forget the meeting we have scheduled? We told those ladies we’d meet them at one of the restaurants facing the Court of Honor ten minutes ago.”

Rosalind inwardly flinched. Even the way he said ladies this time left no doubt about the perceived differences. This time there was no awkward pause.

Douglass blinked, then a new warmth entered his eyes. “Oh. Oh yes. Quite so.” With a slight bow, he said, “Beg pardon, girls. Perhaps we’ll tour the fair together one day in the future.”

Reid nodded as well before abruptly turning his back on them. But Rosalind had noticed that his gaze had turned harder. Less languid.

In the barest of seconds, their elegant forms had blended into the crowds, mixing with the confetti of people. Effectively disappearing from their view.

Rosalind and Nanci stood motionless, staring after them in confusion.

“What just happened?” Nanci whispered.

“I’m not sure,” Rosalind said. “I think we were almost escorted around the fair by two of the richest gentlemen of the city.”

The corners of Nanci’s lips curved up. “Is it a good thing or bad that they walked away?”

“I couldn’t tell you that.”

The truth was, for a moment, she’d been as affected as her sister must have been at first. For a split second, all that mattered was money and looks and power and elegance. For a brief time, she’d been able to imagine what it would be like to have her hand resting on an elegant man’s arm.

She could feel other women’s envious glances as they wondered what made her so special. And she’d been drawn to that feeling like a moth to a flame. In the span of just minutes, she’d pushed aside everything she’d vowed to remember just so she could feel good about herself. It was shocking.

In a burst of clarity, she wondered if, perhaps, that was what had happened to Miranda. Perhaps she had let herself yearn for something that was as fake and as treacherous as a relationship with the wrong kind of man.

Had she let herself believe that a man like Douglass Sloane or Reid Armstrong would ever actually care about a lowly maid who worked in his house?

“We should start walking,” Nanci said with a nervous laugh. “Folks are going to think we’re one of those Roman statues if we stand here like this much longer.”

“Indeed,” Rosalind murmured.

And so finally they, too, joined the throng of tourists and Chicagoans. The throng of everyone. Blending into anonymity.

So much so, they might as well have never been there. They might as well have been completely gone. And she realized that if they did disappear, few would care, and certainly even fewer would have any idea how to locate them.

Rosalind felt the stark, tremulous feeling of worry. And, ironically, relief.

For the moment, at least, they had nothing to fear.